Taehyung’s POV

The rain had been falling since dawn.

Not a heavy storm — just a quiet drizzle that painted the city in slow-moving silver.

I stood outside the little café two blocks from my apartment, cappuccino warming my frozen fingers, sketchbook resting under my arm. My hair was damp, sticking to my forehead, but I didn’t mind. Rain makes people slower… softer. It’s easier to notice details then — the reflections in the puddles, the way strangers hunch into their coats as if shadows could keep them dry.

I was mid-sip when he appeared.

Black hoodie pulled low over his head. Hands deep in his pockets. Earbuds in. His gaze was down, like he was counting the cracks on the pavement.

Something about him didn’t fit with the noise around us. He felt… quieter than the rain itself.

He stopped in front of the café, hesitating like maybe stepping inside was a big decision. Then he looked up.

And for a moment… our eyes met.

Dark. Honest. A little guarded. Yet somehow—warm.

It lasted only two seconds.

Then he looked away and pushed open the door.

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Inside smelled like roasted coffee beans and cinnamon. Soft music floated around — something acoustic, gentle. I took my usual corner by the window, flipping open my sketchbook, though my pencil just hovered above the page.

He was at the counter now, placing an order in a voice so soft I had to strain to hear. An iced americano. No sugar. No milk. Simple. Like him.

While he waited, his fingers drummed an uneven rhythm against his thigh, like he had music in his head no one else could hear.

The barista called out, “Iced americano!”

He took it with a quiet “Thank you” and turned toward the door. But for just a moment—he glanced my way again. Not a full smile, but the faintest tug at one corner of his mouth.

I don’t know why, but it felt… personal.

Before my brain could overthink it, the words jumped out:

“Hey—”

He froze, looking at me with a mix of caution and curiosity.

“You can… um, sit here,” I said, gesturing at the empty chair across from me. “It’s warmer than outside.”

His eyes softened just slightly, but his shoulders stayed tense.

“…I’m fine. Thanks,” he murmured.

I nodded, trying to play it cool. “Sure. Just thought I’d ask.”

He dipped his head in a polite bow — the kind people give when they’re not sure if they’ll ever see you again. And then he was gone, the bell above the door jingling in his wake.

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That night, my hand moved across my sketchbook almost without thinking. Lines became shapes; shapes became him — hoodie, tilted head, eyes that never quite looked at me.

I stared at the page for longer than I’d ever admit. Somewhere between the cappuccino and the rain, a stranger had taken a seat in my thoughts… and wasn’t leaving.

The next morning, I walked into the same café — and there he was. Same hoodie. Same careful eyes. But this time… it felt like he wanted to speak....

Jungkook’s POV

Rain always made my world quieter.

It felt like the city pressed a pillow over its own mouth—traffic fading, people hurrying, voices swallowed up by the gentle hiss of falling water.

I liked it that way. Rain was honest. It didn’t try to hide anything.

I kept my hoodie up, head down as I walked toward the café. I didn’t really need coffee so early, but I liked the tiny bubble of warmth it made in my hands. Mom used to say I was born with winter in my bones—always chasing something to keep the cold out.

When I stopped in front of the glass, I caught my own reflection: tired eyes, hair messy, mouth set in a thin line that never seemed to loosen. I noticed someone sketching by the window. At first, I tried to ignore him. I wasn’t here to talk. But when our eyes met, something shifted inside my chest—like the first note of an old song you loved but almost forgot.

He smiled. Just a small smile, but it was… open. Like somehow he saw me, not the version I tried to hide.

I almost looked away, but curiosity got the best of me. I stepped inside and stole a glance at the menu I already knew by heart. Ordered iced americano—no sugar, no frills, easy. My voice was soft, barely louder than the rain outside.

Is it weird, wanting to hide but also wanting someone to see you?

While I waited, I glanced over. He still had his pencil out but wasn’t moving it. Our eyes met again, and I noticed the way his hair clung damp to his forehead—the kind of thing you only notice if you’re looking for reasons to notice.

God!!! Get a grip.

When my coffee came, I thanked the barista and tried not to trip as I turned around. I should have just gone, but then—

“Hey— ”

The voice stopped me. His voice.

I looked up, surprised and a little nervous. Instinct said to run, but his eyes were gentle. He offered me the seat across from him. Said it was warmer here. Maybe he was just being polite, but it sounded like he meant it.

I almost said yes. But I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be known that quickly. It’s easier when people guess wrong and you don’t have to correct them.

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Sure. Just thought I’d ask.”

I gave him a little bow, like Mom taught me. Polite. Distant. Safe.

But as I stepped back into the rain, I caught my reflection one more time in the glass—this time with his face blurred behind mine. I walked home with my hands squeezed around the coffee until it nearly hurt.

That night, I tried to read. Scrolled through my phone. Ate instant noodles, even though they never tasted like anything. But all I could think about was how someone I’d never met had looked at me—really looked.

And for the first time in a long time, I wondered what I’d say if someone actually wanted to listen.

______________

The next morning, as I pushed open the café door, my heart raced. He was there—even before I walked inside. This time, maybe I’d try to stay...

Taehyung’s POV

The rain had stopped, but the street was still wet, shining like glass.

I slipped into the café, brushing some hair out of my face, and… there he was. The boy from yesterday. The one with the hoodie and quiet eyes.

He was already in line, holding a paper cup sleeve like he wasn’t even aware of it.

When his gaze met mine, my lips automatically tugged into a smile—my big, wide, boxy one. I couldn’t help it. I was just glad to see him again.

He gave me a tiny nod. Not a smile exactly, more like… recognition.

It felt warmer than “hello.”

I went to my usual spot by the window, sketchbook on the table. I tried to concentrate, but my pencil kept making lines that looked suspiciously like his hoodie.

A minute later, a shadow fell over the table. I looked up.

He was standing there, holding his coffee, looking like he wasn’t sure if he should speak or run away.

“You… always sit here?” he asked, voice quiet.

I nodded. “Yeah. Good light.” Then, without thinking, I half-joked, “This seat’s lucky. You can take it sometime.”

His lips twitched like he almost smiled. “Maybe.”

I pushed the cookie plate toward him. “Want one? You look like a cookie person.”

That got me a real reaction—he blinked, then laughed softly like I’d said something strange but… nice. He sat down, slowly. “Just… one.”

We sat like that for a while. Not awkward, but not loud either.

He sipped his coffee. I doodled. Sometimes our eyes met, and I felt this odd little zap of recognition, like we knew something about each other without knowing names.

Then I ruined the quiet by dropping my pencil. It rolled off the table and hit the floor. We both bent down, and as our hands brushed, I looked up and found him looking right at me—closer than I expected.

For half a second, neither of us moved.

I laughed it off. “Thanks,” I said, taking the pencil back.

He nodded, but I caught something in his expression. Something curious. Like maybe… he wanted to ask me something, but wasn’t ready yet.

When he stood to leave, I called after him, “See you… sometime?”

He gave a tiny bow. “Yeah… sometime.”

I watched him walk out into the street, hoodie pulled up again. I didn’t even know his name, but somehow, seeing him made the day feel lighter.

The next time we meet, maybe I’ll ask his name. Or maybe I’ll just try to make him smile again—the real one he’s still keeping hidden.

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Author Note:

I’m juggling a lot of ideas right now—wondering whether to add this scene first or start with something else. It’s a bit confusing, to be honest!

I’d really appreciate Your thoughts and feedback. Your opinions will help me decide what parts to write next and how to make the story feel even better.

Thanks so much for reading and being part of this journey with me.